May 2, 2006
by jennytork
Summary: All Dean wanted to do was celebrate Sam's birthday. Sam hates birthdays, and this year there may be a reason for it.


MAY 2, 2006

"Ice cream, dude? _Really?_ "

Dean glared at Sam. "Yes, Sam - _really_. It's your birthday, man! We need to celebrate it!"

Sam chuckled. "No, Dean - we really don't."

"You got something against birthdays?"

"Nothing good ever happens on my birthday. Not since I turned 18."

Dean winced. He remembered that nightmare of a birthday all too well. He'd long suspected the stress of watching Dean recover from curse-originated quadriplegia that summer had been the final catalyst that had driven Sam from their family. "But you're not turning 18, Sammy. You're turning 23! And I want to buy you ice cream!"

Sam opened his mouth to object again, then realised that maybe - just this once - this wasn't about what he needed to get, but about what Dean needed to give. Maybe Dean needed to make up for those four birthdays he'd missed - even though he'd not asked for anything those last two years, he'd always sent Sam at least a text or a card. "Okay," he sighed, conceding. "Just this once."

He knew he'd made the right call when Dean's face lit up. He always looked like a little boy when he grinned that smile that reached his eyes. "You won't regret this, Sammy!"

Sam felt a chill slide down his spine at Dean's words. "I already do," he muttered under his breath.

 _SPN BIRTHDAY SPN_

Normally, the brothers stuck to diners or the cheapest fast-food joints. So when Dean pulled the Impala up outside a dairy, Sam turned to frown a question at him.

"There's a restaurant in the back," Dean grinned at him. "They use the dairy's milk to make 18 different shades of ice cream. Website totes it as the best ice cream in the Tri-State area."

Sam blinked at him. "'Website'?"

Dean's smile dimmed. "...or so Joshua tells me." He got out of the car.

Sam suddenly felt like a heel. And he wasn't exactly sure why. He felt like he'd missed something very important.

It wasn't a feeling he liked.

Dean rapped his knuckles on the window by his head. "You comin', or what?"

Rolling his eyes, Sam got out of the Impala. "Bet you can't even remember my favourite flavour, jerk."

Without missing a beat, Dean called over his shoulder, "Fudge swirl on top, cookies and cream on bottom - or side-by-side in a cup."

Sam froze, eyes huge as he stared after Dean for a moment. "...Huh." He jogged to catch up, then asked, "It's been four years - and you still-" He flinched from the open-hand cuff on the back of his head. " _Ow! Hey!"_

"Dude, I'm your _brother_." Dean turned to look at him as he put his hand on the knob. "I practically _raised_ you. You think I wouldn't remember _that_?" He shook his head, tugging the door open. "I swear, Sammy - sometimes you can be a real little bit-"

The rest of the word was lost in the roar of a gunshot and the sight of Dean flying backward onto the sidewalk, a fountain of crimson shooting from his right side.

 _"DEAN!"_ Sam screeched, watching his brother hit the pavement and not get up. He saw two men race from the restaurant and another run to the door.

"I'm calling an ambulance!" that man gasped, going to his knees beside Dean and pulling out his cell.

"Good! Thanks!" Then Sam was on his feet and racing after the men. As he ran, he jerked his Taurus from his waistband and thumbed the safety off.

His fingers brushed the ID wallet still in his back pocket as he did so, and he heard himself bellow:

 _"FBI! FREEZE!"_

One of the runners stumbled at that. The other turned and raised his gun, aiming it at Sam.

Without another second's hesitation, Sam shot twice.

The first blast struck the outstretched arm. The hand spasmed open, and the gun hit the ground and spun harmlessly away.

The second blast hit him full in the chest. It was only rock salt, but it had enough force and velocity behind it to knock him off his feet.

The other surrendered on the spot. Supporting his swearing, aching partner, they marched back to the restaurant at the end of Sam's Taurus.

Police and paramedics had arrived. Sam clicked his safety on and shoved it back into his waistband, abandoning the would-be robbers to the police and going to see about his brother.

Dean's eyes were open and glazed with pain. He pulled the oxygen mask down and rasped, "Get 'em?"

"Got 'em," Sam replied. "You focus on getting better, okay?"

Dean nodded, eyes slowly closing. He was loaded into the ambulance, and Sam turned to the Impala, to follow.

He was stopped by the policeman. "How _did_ you get them? What _was_ that?"

"Salt shells. Prototype of non-lethal armament," Sam said curtly, opening the door.

"I heard you say you're FBI. Is he your partner?"

"No," Sam said, closing the door and turning the engine over. "He's my brother. We were just going out for my damned birthday."

And he drove away.

 _SPN BIRTHDAY SPN_

The phone rang and rang, and then it was scooped up. "FBI. Willis."

The words on the other end sent a jolt through him. _"Agent Willis, this is Sheriff Bonner from Newbury Port, Wisconsin. I'm doing a courtesy call for one of your agents - a Sam Warner."_

His hand tightened on the receiver. "Go ahead..." _What had those idjits gotten into now?_

 _"Agent Warner's brother - Dan?"_

"Dean," he corrected. "Yes, I'm aware of his brother - what's happened?"

 _"The agent's brother was shot in an armed robbery less than an hour ago. I asked if I could call anyone, and he gave me this number."_

"You did well, Sheriff. I'll see that the family is notified and I'll see that my agent is taken care of as well."

 _"Thank you, Agent Willis. They sure are lucky to have a boss like you."_ The sheriff hung up.

As he lay the phone in its cradle, Bobby Singer took a deep breath and let it out in a soft curse. He clawed his cell out of his pocket and dialed.

And blinked. "You son of a gun! I can't believe you actually _answered!_ \- No, don't hang up! I just got a call from a sheriff in Newbury Port, Wisconsin - Dean's been shot!"

Then he looked at the buzzing phone in his hand and snarled, "You're welcome."

 _SPN BIRTHDAY SPN_

Sam was pacing the waiting room, his nurse-provided coffee long forgotten and grown cold on the table, when his phone rang. He answered without checking the display. "Yeah?"

 _"How is he?"_

Sam froze. "...Dad?"

 _"Sammy - how is he?"_

"Still waiting. He's in surgery."

 _"I'm half an hour out. See you then."_ And his father hung up.

John arrived to find Sam slumped forward in a too-small chair, his hands clasped on the back of his neck. "Sammy?"

Slowly, his hands unclasped. Even more slowly, his head raised.

John took one look at his expression and gasped, "He's not-"

"No word," Sam interrupted. "Still no word."

As if on cue, a doctor in bloody scrubs walked out. "Agent Warner?"

Sam stood, and John filed the designation and last name away. "I'm Agent Warner," Sam said. "This is our father. How is my brother?"

The doctor broke into a wide smile. "He is going to be just fine."

Sam felt relief detonate in his chest, and then heard his father ask, "How injured was he?"

"Well, the bullet went in here," the doctor showed him on his own body, "and nicked his intestines before coming to rest in his appendix. So we repaired the damage to his intestines and removed his appendix."

Sam gasped. "Nicked his - is there any risk of infection?"

The doctor nodded. "We have him on a rigorous antibiotic regimen and pain management. He'll be all right."

They both nodded, then Sam frowned. "Wait - did I hear you right? The bullet was lodged-"

"In his appendix, yeah," the doctor chuckled. "Damnedest thing I've ever seen!"

Sam and John looked at each other, and John honestly couldn't resist. "Hell of way to get appendicitis!"

 _SPN BIRTHDAY SPN_

Asleep, Dean always seemed to shed years. They sat beside him, Sam's hand curled around Dean's colder one, and just watched him sleep.

This had been too damned close.

And the hell of it was, they hadn't even been on a hunt!

Sam looked up at his father. "Not that I'm complaining - because I'm _not_ \- but why are you here? I mean, you wouldn't even come when I called you that Dean was electrocuted-"

"I didn't get that message, Sammy," John said. "Believe me, if I had, I would have been there as soon as I could. But I didn't get it."

Sam hummed, looking back at Dean.

"He was right, you know."

"About what?"

"Us," John said. "The three of us. We _are_ stronger as a family."

Sam looked up at him again. "...Dad?"

"I'm staying, Sammy." He smiled. "This time, I'm staying."

Sam's smile erupted over his face. "Dean will love that." He squeezed his unconscious brother's hand. "Hear that, Dean? Dad's staying! We're gonna be that family you wanted again."

Dean's fingers twitched and closed tighter around Sam's.

"Hey?" Sam said smiling at John even as a tear escaped. "It turned out to be a pretty good birthday, after all!"

John returned the smile. "Be right back." He gestured to the room's bathroom and made his way there.

John ran water over his face and looked into the mirror. A cold smile twisted his lips.

"Yell all you want," he whispered. "Won't do you any good. You had your shot. You blew it. Now it's _my_ turn."

He met the eyes of his reflection. "I'll be the father to Sammy I was always destined to be. And so long as I wear your form, Dean will follow my every order."

He chuckled softly, the eyes in the mirror turning a sickly shade of yellow.

"After all," he whispered, "Sammy's _always_ been my favourite..."

END


End file.
